


The Transitive Property of Attraction

by concupiscence66



Series: The Principles of Sweet [1]
Category: Sweet - Fandom, The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concupiscence66/pseuds/concupiscence66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the short film "Sweet" starring Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding.  (It's on youtube and well worth your ten minutes!)</p><p>Henry's name is not Stitch, and he did not name his kiosk Sweet Music after Pete Sweet.  Pete Sweet named himself after Henry's kiosk.<br/>Henry Dulcy is just a regular guy who'd like to go on the occasional date and occasionally feel good about himself.  Somehow, this desire has led to him having a completely useless friend and sidekick.  He can handle the dancing and the matching shirts, but when Pete starts dating an imaginary girl (not even one he imagined up himself), Henry begins to question some of his decisions.  </p><p>Henry wants a real life.   And a real life boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Henry Dulcy needed someone to help out at the kiosk. That night. He wasn't as picky in his interviewing process as he should have been.

"My name is Pete. Pete Sweet!" the boy announced with excitement.

"It says Pete McDougall on your paperwork."

"Yeah, that's my name, but everyone calls me Pete Sweet," the boy explained. Henry wondered if the paperwork was even real. Pete was meant to be twenty-two, but he looked and acted like a teenager.

"That parka is well cool," Pete observed, pulling at the oversized coat Henry had inherited from a former lover named Charles. It was a green monstrosity with a fur-lined hood, but it was warm.

Pete had no experience and the vacant eyes of a mental patient, but he was charming and enthusiastic. He was also fit and had piercing eyes that moved from blue to green or maybe gray, depending on how he tilted his face. He would bring the girls in, and probably a few boys. He didn't seem bright enough to steal.

"Can you start tonight?" Henry asked, wondering if he was making a terrible mistake.

"Wot?" Pete barked in astonishment. "Me first job!"

Pete danced as Henry tried to teach him how to use the register. It all felt like a huge mistake, but Henry was going on his first date since Charles had decided to go back to girls. He needed someone to watch the kiosk.

xxx

"So I was thinkin' this could be my dance," Pete announced, before beginning to flail his arms around wildly.

"Hilarious," Henry snarled. "If I laugh any harder, I'll get a stitch in my side."

Pete never stopped talking, and it was always bollocks.

"A wot?" Pete asked, as though he'd never heard something so ludicrous.

"A stitch."

Pete's face remained blank.

"A stitch in my side—you must be familiar with this expression," Henry snapped.

Pete looked hurt for a moment before his face suddenly brightened.

"You're a stitch," Pete said in a teasing tone, moving in far too close for Henry's comfort.

"That makes no sense at all," Henry sighed.

"You make no sense at all," Pete replied, "and you're a stitch. Stitch."

"Don't call me a stitch," Henry said. "It's childish."

"All right," Pete said with a dazzling smile. "Stitch."

xxx

"All right, Stitch?" Dave said with a smile.

"Don't call me Stitch. My name is Henry."

"But you like to be called Stitch."

"No, I like to be called Henry. That lunatic I hired at the kiosk calls me Stitch. Because he's a lunatic," Henry explained as patiently as he could. 

"Remember when I used to work with you?" Dave mused. "Those were good days. Why did I stop working there?"

"You kept getting high and either abandoning the kiosk or just giving things away, so I fired you."

Dave laughed, clearly fondly remembering the good old days. "That's right! I was a mess back then. You know who is dead responsible? My sister Poppy. You should hire her."

"That would be your imaginary sister?" Henry asked, his patience wearing thin. He'd known Dave since primary school and couldn't quite steel his heart to the drug-addled eccentric. They had too much history. When people asked if he'd ever 'tried girls', Stitch included Poppy in the list of his heterosexual adventures. Giving Poppy a feel-up under the influence of psychedelics had certainly been more sexually informative than the year at university he'd spent dating a lesbian. They had both been deeply in the closet, not quite ready to admit the truth even to themselves. For a year, their parents were happy, while Henry learned a surprising amount about football and large dogs.

"That's right," Dave sighed. "I forget sometimes, you know? She's such an important part of my life."

Poppy was an important part of the lives of all Dave's friends. It wasn't everyone who had an imaginary person as part of their social circle. It was a great icebreaker at parties. He'd mentioned Poppy to Pete, in a desperate effort to stop the boy from talking more about New Wave. Pete's eyes had widened with fascination. He was as barmy as Dave, even when he was dead sober, and he couldn't handle liquor at all. One lager, and he was stumbling. He would take a cigarette when offered, but would inevitably cough until tears were rolling down his cheeks while insisting it was "smooth." Henry shuddered to imagine the boy on drugs. His pet theory was that Pete's mother had done tons and tons of drugs while pregnant, resulting in a son who wanted to be introduced to someone's imaginary sister.

Pete was entirely too interested in Poppy. He was a lunatic, but he was endearing, and Henry worried about him in spite of himself. When he asked Pete what kind of girls he liked, he'd said he liked them tall, thin and brunette. Henry had then said Poppy was short, stocky, and ginger, just to keep Pete from getting obsessed. 

It hadn't worked.

Talking to Dave could be a chore, but he did always have some amazing drugs on hand. Once Henry got the conversation steered away from Poppy and on to poppers, the night took a turn for the better. 

xxx

Henry was lying on the ground outside the club with his feet on the wall, waiting to once again have control over his limbs. They'd gone a bit rogue on him inside the club. He was never a good dancer, but he didn't normally hit himself in the face with his own fist. There was part of his brain that thought that if he laid off the poppers, he'd be more likely to be able to stand up, but that was the boring part of his brain. Another sniff, and he wondered why he'd ever wanted to get off the ground in the first place. He had such a good view of where the stars would be if there wasn't so much light pollution.

"All right, Stitch?"

Henry jumped a foot, not easy or advisable when lying on your back.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Henry barked, clutching at his spasming spine.

"I was walking by and saw you out here having a little lie down," Pete explained, as terminally sunshiny as ever. "I just wanted to say hi. Make sure you didn't need to go to hospital."

There was a halo of light around Pete's head, and his eyes were blindingly blue. He looked like an angel. It might have been the poppers, but Henry suddenly thought that Pete was a divine gift. He'd been sent to help Henry with something. It couldn't be the kiosk, because Pete was rubbish at working, so there had to be another reason their paths had crossed.

When Henry reached out to touch Pete's shining face, the boy suddenly went shy, but didn't pull away. He just sat still and let Henry stroke his lovely, boney face. He wasn't traditionally attractive—his face was all strange angles and weird pointy bits—but it all came together to make a truly lovely visage. 

"I'm fine," Henry said, not sounding terribly convincing to himself. "I've just been doing poppers for... hours. I think. I have no idea what time it is."

"Oh, poppers. Yeah," Pete said, clearly having no idea of what he spoke. "They'll make you feel like that."

Henry pulled the bottle out of his pocket. "Just take a quick sniff of the fumes."

Pete obliged. When security kicked them out of the alley because they were apparently a fire hazard, they leaned on each other as they staggered through the streets of London, trying to remember where either of them lived. Henry was pretty sure one hit of poppers shouldn't have affected Pete so strongly, but then, Pete was obviously brain damaged to begin with. Damaged and lovely and just the right height to lean on when too pissed and high to walk straight.


	2. Chapter 2

Pete wanted to be Henry's friend. He wanted them to spend time together outside of work. Henry knew this because Pete kept saying things like, "We should be mates," or "We should do something together after work." While he had gown increasingly fond of Pete, Henry was hesitant to get more entangled with the strange boy. Henry's life wasn't exactly working out the way he'd planned. He was already too old to be working in a kiosk, but his writing career wasn't really going anywhere, and he didn't have a "backup plan" like his parents had suggested when he got his degree in English and Creative Writing. His love life was nearly nonexistent. He wasn't a good enough dancer to go to a gay club, and he didn't really know how else to meet people. It had been a good thing in his youth that no one ever thought he was gay—especially since he couldn't fight for shit—but it made dating hard as an adult. It didn't help that he still tended to feed people's perception that he was heterosexual, as a defense mechanism. Sometimes he'd find himself flirting with a woman, only to then be in the awkward position of having no good reason not to ask her out. His usual solution was to get so piss drunk he either blurted out that he was gay or passed out. There had probably been other resolutions as well, but Henry was too off his tits to remember them. Vomiting had surely gotten him out of at least one awkward situation. 

He could get drunk and throw up on Pete, but he was pretty sure the boy would not be deterred. He barely bothered to be polite anymore with his rejection of every offer to "hang out." Nothing fazed Pete; he just kept asking until Henry gave in and let Pete follow him to his favorite pub. Then he started dropping by all the time and acting like it was his pub. Henry's desire to mark his territory and tell Pete to back off was so strong and powerful, it had to be wrong. Henry had realized a long time ago that when he felt that passionate, it was best to pretend he didn't care.

Then Pete went on a date with Henry. He apparently didn't realize it was a date. Charles was clearly not as happy with heterosexuality as he had expected. Henry knew it would be a bad idea to get involved with Charles again, but he was lonely and horny. When Charles dropped by the kiosk and invited him out for a drink, Henry said yes. 

Then Pete said he'd go as well. Charles all too eagerly welcomed Pete, while Henry tried to think of subtle sign language to get across the message, "He's not gay, he's just really stupid."

Either Charles failed to receive the messages Henry was sending with his mind, or he was choosing to ignore them. Pete grabbed his faded and thin denim jacket and practically skipped as he walked between the former lovers. Instead of comfortable, relatively string-free sex with an ex, Henry was going to spend the evening protecting Pete's virtue.

xxx

When Pete fell off his stool, Henry took the rest of his lager. The kid was a danger to himself.

Charles kept touching Pete—nothing overtly sexual, just constant encroachments into Pete's personal space. It was strange to watch Charles on the prowl. Henry could remember how handsome and clever he had felt with Charles. Sometimes he thought he missed that view of himself more than the relationship. Seeing Charles oozing his charm all over Pete like a politician was a bit depressing. Maybe Henry had never really been handsome and clever, after all. Maybe he was just easy to manipulate.

Pete eagerly accepted Charles' invitation back to his flat, forcing Henry to go as well. 

"It is getting well cold," Pete observed, hugging himself. "Why ain't you got your parka on, Stitch? You wear it all the time when it ain't even that cold."

Henry refused to look at Charles' smug face, so he just stared straight ahead as Pete yapped on about Stitch's "genius" parka. Apparently Pete had spent a lot of time admiring Henry's jacket. 

"I think I need to get myself a parka like that," Charles said with an audible smirk. Henry tried to remember what he'd found so appealing about Charles in the first place. He decided he'd give the parka to Pete the next day at work. If Henry swam in it, Pete would look like a toddler in his father's clothes. The mental image was the first thing to make Henry smile all night.

xxx

Charles hated whiskey, but there was a handle of Jack Daniels on his coffee table. Henry smirked at Charles' confidence. Too bad he'd jinxed his easy score by going for the three-way.

Pete was stumbling drunk on the half a pint Henry had allowed him to drink before swiping it away, along with every subsequent drink Charles tried to put in front of the lightweight. Henry was at least two and half sheets to the wind himself, but he felt pretty confident he wasn't going to vomit any time soon, so he'd probably have a little whiskey before he dragged Pete out of the flat.

xxx

Three shots later, Henry was on the familiar tile of Charles' bathroom, praying for death and promising any listening deity that he would never drink again. Only the fact that Pete had cheerfully been describing the night "me'n'Stitch was doin' poppers" forced Henry back to his feet. The kid had no idea what he was saying. If Charles actually pulled out some poppers, or even an overly sugary drink, Pete was going to end up on the receiving end of bumming before he knew what was happening.

As Henry washed his face and rinsed his mouth, he pondered how Charles had turned into a stranger when they'd been together for over a year. There had been a time he'd thought Charles was the one, the person he could sleep next to for the rest of his life. That dream had rather depended on Charles not wanting to fuck girls on the side, but even after the cheating had started, Henry had hung on. It was hard to believe he could have been so wrong.

Henry was feeling contemplative when he dragged himself back into the sitting room and found Charles kissing Pete on the neck. Pete was frozen, his eyes cartoonishly large and full of woe. If asked, Henry couldn't have described the facial expression of someone who realized he had painted himself into a corner and was about to have some seriously unwanted sex, but he recognized the look as soon as he saw it. Charles was completely oblivious to Pete's fear. He was throwing sexy at eyes at Henry like they were about to live out some porno fantasy. Suddenly, it wasn't just the liquor making Henry want to throw up. 

"C'mon, Pete," he said, holding a hand out to the younger man. Pete grabbed his hand without hesitation, but once he was on his feet, he looked a bit lost again. Charles tried to intercept them at the door, going on about how he'd missed Henry and how good he was looking. Henry felt too queasy and broken to even talk; he just wanted to be home and waiting for the inevitable hangover. 

xxx

Pete rubbed his back as Henry was hit by another wave of dry heaves. 

"Do you need to go to hospital?" Pete asked nervously.

"I'll be fine," Henry panted, wiping the tears from his eyes. It was the second time he'd had to stop in an alley. His flat felt miles away.

"I could run to my place, get my scooter..."

"I'm not getting on a fucking scooter," Henry snapped. "I just need a minute."

He felt angry at Pete for seeing him such a mess. He was angry at him for the part Pete had played in stomping all over Henry's memory of what he'd had with Charles. 

He was angry at Pete for being so fucking pretty.

He could have turned that anger into a proper rage if Pete hadn't chosen that moment to try and fit his little denim jacket over Henry's shoulders. The denim jacket didn't offer much protection from the chill, but the gesture warmed his heart. 

"I'm sorry about Charles," Henry apologized. "He's really confused right now."

Pete looked pretty confused himself, but he didn't ask any questions. He just propped Henry up and helped him back to his flat. Henry decided he would just crawl the two flights up to his place. It was too late to worry about the neighbors talking. He'd gone on a few (dozen) benders after ending things with Charles, and they'd all seen worse. He was mentally preparing himself for the climb when Pete asked, "Should... should I come upstairs?"

Henry was unnecessarily snappish as he told Pete he would be fine on his own. He felt guilty as soon as he hit the stairs. He was going to have to be nicer to Pete now that they were apparently friends.

It wasn't until he managed to crawl into his bed that he wondered just what exactly Pete had been offering outside.


	3. Chapter 3

Henry woke up with a pounding headache and an empty stomach. With the aid of coffee, he was able to make it to the kiosk. He wouldn't have bothered opening for the day, but (as he'd predicted) Pete was already there, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Only the idea of Pete manning the fort alone had brought Henry from his deathbed. Left to his own devices, every pretty girl in London would be walking away with Henry's merchandise, gratis. 

"All right?" Pete greeted him as Henry staggered into the booth. He growled and sat on a stool in the corner. He alternated eyes, so that one was always open and on Pete. As he slowly began to feel human, Henry became aware that there was something off about Pete. He was smiling and chattering on about nonsense as usual, but he rarely looked directly at Henry. Henry wanted to talk to the kid, apologize for Charles' behavior and his own failure to stay sober enough to prevent such an awkward situation. He could still see Pete's face as he'd sat, frozen. He'd been so lost and out of his element. He probably hadn't realized Charles was gay until he'd made his move.

He shouldn't have left them alone. He knew Charles would try something eventually; he'd just assumed Pete would flap his arms and squawk hysterically until Charles backed off. Pete wasn't exactly cool under pressure. Every time the kiosk got crowded, Pete had a panic attack. When Henry was busiest was when he usually had to send Pete for coffee, lest the kid have a nervous breakdown. 

Henry smiled at Pete, charmed in spite of himself by the boy's unguarded nature. There were no secrets with Pete.

"Wot's wrong, Stitch?" Pete asked, looking just to the left of Henry's face, awkwardly full of concern.

Henry dry heaved into the waste basket. He had no idea how long he'd left Pete with Charles. They could have talked about anything. While convinced that Charles was 'the one,' Henry had been willing to try just about anything Charles suggested. Charles was the first man Henry had allowed to top him, go down on him in public, tie him up... there had been an awful lot of first times with Charles. Some things, Henry had no interest in repeating (the ball gag, complicated role play, sex under the stars on what had turned out to be a patch of poison oak), but others he rather missed (bottoming, uncomplicated role playing, nipple clamps). He wondered if he'd ever trust someone that much again.

He'd had so much faith in Charles. Now he was wondering what the titbox had told Pete.

Henry had been watching Pete charm, but completely fail to get off with, every girl who walked by the kiosk. He was flirty and outgoing, but as soon as a girl showed interest, Pete went red and stumbled over his words. He was like a little kid. Whatever experience he had, it couldn't be substantial.

Henry had felt reasonably experienced until the first time Charles had pinned his hands above his head and said, "You're mine." Of course, it was all a game. Henry would have had no trouble breaking free, and Charles had probably used that line on every sympathetic barmaid in town. It was nothing, but it had felt like everything.

Henry tried very hard not to picture Charles using the same line on Pete. Charles would be able to hold both those skinny wrists in one hand, and Pete would be excited, but scared. He wouldn't be able to hold his own against Charles the way Henry could. He'd be so much more vulnerable.

"Have I got shit on my face?" Pete asked, snapping Henry from his reverie. Pete was shyly ducking behind his hair, but looked disappointed when Henry stopped staring. Someday, he'd probably figure out his strange face and become a peacock. For now, Pete had just an inkling of what made him attractive. 

xxx

Pete didn't mention Charles for over a month. Things were nearly normal at the kiosk. Henry had accepted the inevitability of Pete. For all the many, many ways he annoyed Henry, he was also quite sweet. He tried, in his childish way, to be a good friend. He brought Henry disgusting cups of coffee that were ice cold because they were at least 50% cream and sugar, and he introduced Henry to horrible electro nonsense via friendship mix tapes (on actual cassette tapes). When Henry tried to discuss things like literature or politics, Pete tried very hard to look interested. He was silly and dippy, but Pete had a good heart. Henry wasn't used to anyone being as open and straightforward as Pete, but it was a nice change from the norm. Pete never had an ulterior motive; he just wanted Henry to be his friend. 

Henry had taken more than his usual ten minutes on break, and actually went to get some decent take-away instead of a sandwich from a nearby kiosk. He was trying to give Pete a bit more responsibility. If the idea was that Henry was going to start dating again, he needed to feel confident in Pete's ability to not fall apart at the slightest hiccough in routine.

He brought Pete back some lo mein, so he could do his impersonation of a turtle eating. Henry pretended to be annoyed by it, but it was actually pretty funny.

His stomach dropped into his shoes when he saw Pete's pale face.

"Oh god, what happened?" Henry asked as he approached. The kiosk had not collapsed or burst into flames. There seemed to be no reason for Pete to look so perturbed. 

"Nuthin'," Pete lied as he fiddled with his hair. "Just... Charles dropped by, lookin' for you..."

"For fuck's sake," Henry swore. "What did he say to you? Did he make a move?"

Pete opened his mouth and eyes wide. He lied like a child, with lots of energy and no skill.

"He just asked if you were around, said he misses you and all..."

"What did he really say?" Henry asked, getting into Pete's personal space and towering over the smaller man. Henry rarely tried to be intimidating with his size—he was more likely to slouch and try to blend in—but he was having the desired effect. Pete was stumbling backwards and looking nervous, and while it made Henry feel sick, he didn't back off.

"Tell me what he said," he demanded, trying to look like someone who knew how to fight.

"You shouldn't let people hurt you!" Pete squawked. "You're well nice and fit, and girls like you and boys like you..."

"Shut up!" Henry yelled. "I never ever want to hear you mention my sex life again. Ever!"

Pete had gone white and was staring at his shoes. He looked terrified, but he still squeaked out, "Just saying, people shouldn't be hurting you..."

"That's not what I do!" Henry yelled. "That's not what I am. I'm just normal. I like normal things. I want normal things. I'm not talking about this with you. Have you even seen a naked person in real life? Have you ever held someone's hand?"

Pete looked indignant. "Yeah, I seen... I mean, I done it an' all. I had a girlfriend for two years."

"And was she imaginary?"

"No!" Pete squealed. "She got leukemia again and died."

Henry felt like one of those cartoon characters who had failed to notice until it was too late that he'd run right off a cliff. He was flailing in midair. Pete was chewing his thumbnail and looking impossibly young and innocent.

"Did that...? Is that why you're so...?" Henry stammered. If he were a very different person from a very different upbringing, he would have given the young man a hug. "I'm sorry, Pete. I didn't know."

Pete shrugged and started chewing on a strand of hair. "It was well sad. She was so nice and funny. When I met her, she had just finished chemo and her hair was all gone, so she wore wigs. Not regular wigs, but like fright wigs, and a blue Louise Brooks, and a pink beehive... She was loads of fun..."

"So she was already sick when you met her?" Henry asked, two courses in psychology making his brain tick.

"She had just gone into remission, and she was fine for a year before she got sick again," Pete explained, looking almost somber. "She was my first everything."

It was so painfully sad that Henry had a strange urge to giggle. He awkwardly slapped a heavy hand on Pete's shoulder. "I'm sorry, mate. Let's go out, all right? We'll go dancing, meet some girls..."

Pete's face lit up. "We can wear our matching shirts!"

"We don't have matching shirts..."

Henry's stomach tightened as he watched Pete eagerly pull a gift box from his messenger bag. Henry opened the box and felt a tad relieved when he saw the cream-colored shirt. He'd feared worse, like a t-shirt with their faces screen printed on, or worse, a shirt with "Stitch" embroidered on the chest. There was no way in hell he was letting that nickname stick. He'd never submitted to Hank, he sure as hell wouldn't be Stitch.

But he would be in a club with Pete, wearing nearly matching tops. Why? Because some girl Henry had never met had died tragically young. Life was funny that way.


	4. Chapter 4

Henry had never even pretended to like Pete's cream-colored shirt. He'd simply asked, "Where did you get that shirt?"

He had certainly never meant, "Please go buy me a similar shirt."

While Henry's shirt lacked the brown piping around oversized lapels, he did get a huge brown pocket on his chest. It was a shirt that said, "Look at my man boobs. I'm young, but I'm already past my prime."

He would have a shirt identical to Pete's, if only Pete's shirt came in adult sizes.

Henry pretended to love the shirt, and he let Pete borrow his parka for weeks at a time. He went to clubs with Pete and danced like he was leading a gay aerobics class. At first, it was torture, but booze and drugs seemed to help. 

It was a small price to pay to not have to be emotionally available to a boy who'd lost his first love to cancer. He sure as hell wasn't going to discuss Pete's psychological state, but he was available for clubbing and the occasional quiz night. 

Henry was the best wingman a boy could ask for. He talked Pete up to every age-appropriate female in the vicinity. He did his best to be non-threatening and non-sexual. He chatted with girls and pretended to try and pull. Henry still wasn't sure what Pete actually knew about his relationship with Charles, and he hadn't the nerve to ask. He seemed unperturbed by Henry's sudden heterosexuality, offering to step aside if there was a girl that Henry 'fancied'. 

Not that Henry would need help from Pete. Being gay was almost an advantage at the clubs. Women were drawn to the way Henry didn't constantly stare at their tits or try to have sex with them in the loo. They would flock to Henry and Pete, dance the night away, and go home unmolested. Pete would all but hide behind Henry if a girl showed too much interest. 

That was the big problem with Henry's little scheme to get Pete laid. While he felt pretty confident his friend needed some physical contact that didn't end in a funeral, it was getting harder and harder to remember why they were looking for a girl.

When Pete was staring up at him, laughing at all of his jokes, it didn't seem so crazy to think Henry could be the one to help him out. He'd always been pretty flexible in the bedroom (in every way relevant), and he was certain he could make it a pleasant experience. He imagined a dozen scenarios that allowed Henry to fully explore Pete's lithe body without being 'creepy.' They could be friends with benefits. 

Henry wouldn't need to bother dating; he could just hang around and wait for Pete or Charles to get horny. He could get a pager, so he'd be ready for booty calls. 

When he had too much to drink, Henry would wonder if he and Pete could just be together. Henry wasn't equipped to play the field. He was a homebody; he didn't care much for strangers, he didn't like working out or trying to sort out his 'problem areas.' He just wanted someone to accept him as he was and to not be too fucking annoying. Charles had come the closest. When he wasn't screwing random women and giving Henry crabs, he was attentive and affectionate and so very worldly. Pete was sweet, caring, and couldn't pull a girl if she were wearing a lasso. Henry could imagine he and Pete exchanging blowjobs before snuggling in front of the TV, so Henry could watch a documentary while Pete slept. Or maybe Pete would watch a cartoon while Henry slept. The possibilities were endless.

Sober, Henry was pretty certain Pete would have to actually be interested in sucking cock for the whole scenario to work out. All the hero worship (even with the addition of whiskey) in the world wasn't going to make Pete forget Henry wasn't a pretty girl. Charles had certainly never forgotten what he was missing. 

Not that he was ever missing it for long.

So Henry stayed in the friend zone, even when Pete finished an entire beer and was falling over drunk. He held Pete up without so much as copping a feel. When Pete leaned in too close and licked his lips, Henry made a joke or pointed out the nearest available female. He'd once pointed at an elderly nun. Even affable Pete had looked at him strangely on that one, although Pete did agree she was fit, given her advanced age.

Henry never made a move and blamed it on being drunk. He never used the patented Charles trick of offering a handjob or a blowie, while pretending to want nothing in return and then swooping in for the kill. Charles had used that on Henry more than once after the cheating had started. He would go on and on about Henry's good looks and talents while coaxing him into some new degradation. Henry had never let someone top him, but two hours after catching Charles in bed with a waitress from the pub down the street, he'd let Charles fuck him on the couch. It had started with Charles giving him an amazing and drawn out blowjob. Even when Charles had started fingering him, Henry had still thought it was all about making Henry feel good. By the time he'd realized he'd been played, Henry had felt too stupid to call Charles out. 

Maybe Pete wasn't quite dim and childish enough to confuse an amazing blowjob for love. Maybe only Henry was that naive.

"What's wrong, Stitch?" Pete asked, putting his hand on Henry's chest. Henry backed off and asked Pete not to touch him. He was trying to be a good friend, and he didn't need Pete distracting him with his unnecessarily intimate gestures.

"Nothing's wrong. I just don't like this song."

"You hate all these songs," Pete countered, his hand hovering in front of Henry but not quite touching his chest. "Why do you look sad?"

Henry wanted to tell Pete why he looked sad. He wanted to tell him how he woke up every morning and his first thought was about how stupid he was for falling for someone like Charles. He wanted to tell Pete how much he needed someone who was honest and guileless in his life, but how hard it was for him to trust anyone.

He wanted to say he fancied Pete, and that he wanted to touch him. How much he wanted to just hide away with Pete and pretend the rest of the world was make-believe. 

"Look, there's Dave and his sister, Poppy," Henry yelled, pointing across the club at his old mate. Pete's face lit up.

"You've got to introduce me to Poppy!"

Henry couldn't say no.

xxx

Henry imagined himself in a music video, playing a middle-aged geography teacher in a dance club, trying to let loose. When he told Pete about the imaginary video in his head, Pete not only understood exactly what he meant, he wanted to be in the video. Henry cast him as a junior executive who went to the same church. 

"We're wearing matching shirts 'cause we're in quartet what changes the lyrics of pop songs to be about religious stuff!" Pete added with excitement. Henry knew his strange sense of humor could be alienating, but not to Pete. Pete always got it, and cheerfully upped the ante on the weird. 

Henry lost himself in the fantasy, imagining himself leading a normal, boring life instead of just a boring one.

He didn't even see Dave coming. Pete agreed to give Dave and Poppy some space, because there were always people eager to meet the infamous Poppy. Henry hadn't expected Dave to seek him out so quickly. 

Henry pretended to meet Poppy for the first time, for what had to be the tenth time. Henry immediately wondered what Dave was on and if he had any more. Henry was less a thrill-seeker than a reality avoider. He envied how the real world never seemed to interfere with Dave's good time.

He wasn't concerned when Pete announced that Poppy was "beautiful" or that he asked her out. They were filming an imaginary music video; Henry was in a whimsical mood.

xxx

He wasn't even sure Pete was making out with an imaginary girl. Whatever Dave had given him was making the world move in funny ways. People were going in and out of focus, colors suddenly becoming unbearably bright before receding back to the normal, bland color palette of Henry's life. By the time Pete was dry-humping Poppy against a wall of the club, Henry was introducing himself to people as Stitch.

"I'm called Stitch!" he announced to a bored-looking woman, "and this is my mate, Pete Sweet. And this is his imaginary girlfriend, Poppy. Do you want to be in a music video?"

xxx

Pete was going to get arrested for jerking off in the streets, and Henry was going to need a liver transplant. There was no amount of liquor or illicit substances that could make it okay to lose a potential boyfriend to an imaginary woman.

The world was spinning as Henry staggered into the street. He was clutching his mobile and trying to think of how he could use it to get a taxi. He'd done it before, so he knew it was possible. He ducked into an alley for a bit of quiet, only to find himself looking at Pete's bare ass as he fucked 'Poppy' up against a wall.

As he stumbled back to the sidewalk, he heard Pete speaking in hushed tones.

"Whatcha mean, you wanna get Stitch involved? No way, he ain't up for that!"

Henry wanted to yell, "Don't be so sure!" but he held his tongue. If Pete was having a psychotic break, it might not be a good idea to literally get in the middle. There might be straightjackets involved soon enough, and Henry wasn't up for that level of bondage.

"Hey there, Stitch."

He didn't need to look up to know it was Charles. He'd know that rich chocolate voice anywhere. It was always hard to remember Charles was a complete fucking bastard when he started talking in his lower register. 

"What are you doing here?" Henry asked, before belatedly adding, "and my name isn't Stitch."

"You asked me to come," Charles explained, sounding sensible and trustworthy.

Henry shook his head, but he was already doubting himself. "No I didn't."

Charles held his phone up to Henry's face. The screen read, "Pleese come find me. To high, to lonely. stitch."

Henry frowned and pulled out his own phone. As soon as he had the mobile in his hand, he vaguely remembered writing the text in the men's room while a couple had noisy sex in the next stall. 

"Well, I'm fine," Henry said, trying to stand tall and nearly losing his balance. Charles wrapped a protective arm around his waist and held him up.

"I've got you, Stitch. I'll get you home safe."

If Pete hadn't screamed Poppy's name at that moment, Henry might have stood a chance.


	5. Chapter 5

Charles made himself right at home, like it hadn't been months since he'd been inside Henry's flat. Henry was on the sofa nibbling a cracker and sipping lukewarm ginger beer, quietly thrilled that Charles remembered his comfort food and beverage. Maybe he really did care.

Henry allowed himself to be pulled into Charles's long arms without a pretense of protest. Charles made Henry feel like a little kid again, someone who could be held and indulged.

"You look good," Charles murmured, sliding a hand inside Henry's shirt. "I've missed you."

"Don't," Henry sighed. "No games, let's just..."

Charles silenced him with a kiss, gently positioning Henry until he was lying down on the couch with Charles on top of him. The familiar feel of Charles's erection through their clothing was almost comforting. Charles was a douche, but he was good in bed, and so very handsome. He was classically handsome, like someone who modeled expensive suits or cologne.

He was as different from Pete as humanly possible. It was no wonder Henry was falling in love with Pete.

"Oh, fuck," Henry groaned as he tried to push Charles off of him. "This can't be happening."

"Relax, babe, I'm going to take good care of you," promised Charles, whose rich voice almost made his cheesy lines work.

"I've gone wrong," Henry explained. "I'm falling in love with a crazy straight boy. I need to get my life together. Go back to uni... Maybe get a couple of dogs to settle me down, give me some structure..."

Getting out from under Charles was nearly impossible, but Henry was trying. He couldn't think with Charles' hard-on digging into his thigh.

Charles hushed him and promised everything would be okay. He didn't actually say anything meaningful; he just strung together reassuring words in various combinations until Henry began to relax. 

What could it really hurt? Pete wasn't interested, and Henry didn't exactly have men beating down his door. Charles was familiar, and sometimes familiarity felt like safety. In the end, he was too out of it to say no in a way that would actually make Charles stop, and too lonely to really try.

When Henry could get his legs to work properly, Charles carried him to the bedroom, like he was a really tall and gangly bride about to be deflowered. He was sure Charles could tell that there were exactly the same number of condoms and the same amount of lube as the last time he'd been over. 

As Charles piled pillows under his hips, Henry wondered what would happen if he offered himself to Pete. Maybe Pete preferred girls, but if he would shag an imaginary girl, why not Henry? Pete could bend him over and pretend he was a pretty girl who was into anal. Or a dumpy ginger who was into anal. Pete didn't seem all that picky.

Pete's fingers wouldn't be so thick or assured as he stretched Henry out; he'd be more fumbling and awkward. He wouldn't have Henry slick and ready in a manner of minutes. 

At least not the first time.

"I literally need to be fucked senseless," Henry explained. "There's not enough booze in the world to turn my brain off tonight."

Charles looked sympathetic. "That never is easy for you, is it? You always think too much."

Charles ran his thumb over Henry's brow in a soothing gesture. Henry let out an embarrassing sigh. He was always a sucker for a little pampering.

"Pete has an imaginary girlfriend," Henry blurted out. "I can't take it."

Charles chuckled. "I bet you can take it..."

"He's so pretty," Henry whined.

"All fresh-faced and fit," Charles agreed. "And those lips..."

Henry punched him in the shoulder. "Don't think about Pete while you're fucking me."

"You're thinking about him," Charles pointed out as he pulled Henry's legs over his shoulders. 

"You're supposed to be making me feel good," Henry reminded him. "I let you do whatever you want, and you make me feel handsome. That's our deal."

It was a joke that wasn't. Charles was a big hunk of manliness with a square jaw. He was the epitome of masculine beauty, much like Pete represented beautiful, androgynous perfection. Next to them, Henry felt dull and ordinary, but being wanted by someone that beautiful... By the transitive property of attraction, if someone special wanted to be with you, you then became special.

Charles was rough when he entered Henry. There was no question that he did it on purpose, because he wanted to see Henry squirm and be at his mercy. Everything Charles ever did was to advance his own agenda.

Pete would want to make Henry happy.

"Be gentle," Henry whispered. "Just this one time."

Charles was downright tender. The sex wasn't as intense as it usually was, but it was nice. More than nice. Henry felt attractive and wanted.

He fell asleep in Charles' arms, and when he woke up two hours later (still drunk and crying for no reason), Charles held him. He wasn't in the mood for round two, but it seemed like a small price to pay for some high quality snuggling. He didn't get off, he barely got hard, but he enjoyed being enveloped in Charles' warmth.

Henry was apparently an 80-year-old woman in the body of young man. Maybe he didn't need a boyfriend; maybe he just needed a warm shawl and some freshly baked little cakes.

xxx

Pete was chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes wide with concern. Being nervous suited Pete; it made Henry want to soothe him. He wanted to kiss those slightly swollen lips...

"Why isn't the inventory out?" Henry barked. "We're supposed to be running a business here."

Instead of the most appropriate response—"This is your kiosk and you're an hour late, dickhead"—Pete went with, "All right, Stitch?"

It was his usual greeting, but today it sounded like a proper question.

"Let's get moving," Henry said, avoiding Pete's ethereal and apparently all-seeing eyes.

"I saw you with Charles last night."

Henry pretended not to hear.

"We should get soup today," Henry suggested, "I suddenly feel like the kind of person who would like a hearty soup. Or is it hardy? I always confuse those two..."

"I don't think you should spend time with Charles," Pete announced. He was standing tall, with his chest puffed out. His face showed his terror, but his body language was pure confidence.

"I thought we'd established that my lo- my personal life is none of your goddamn business," Henry snapped. Pete, surprisingly, didn't back down.

"Poppy thinks..."

"Yes," Henry laughed. "Please tell me what Poppy thinks about the situation. I've been dying for her input."

Pete wavered in the face of Henry's anger, but he stood his ground.

"Poppy thinks Charles is wrong for you."

"Does she now?"

Pete nodded. "She thinks he makes you feel bad about yourself on purpose, 'cause he wants to keep you to himself..."

Henry snorted. Charles clearly wasn't interested in exclusivity.

Pete closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You need to find someone who makes you happy..."

"Like Poppy?" Henry asked with derision. "Maybe I'll give her a ring."

Pete frowned. "That ain't funny, Stitch. Me and Poppy got something special."

Henry thought of a dozen cruel things to say. He settled for stroking Pete's hair and calling him an odd duck. Pete smiled like it was a compliment.

xxx

Henry took Pete's advice and did not see Charles.

For another week. He didn't remember calling Charles, but once again, his phone acted as a witness against him and showed he had in fact drunk dialed his ex. 

"Treacherous bastard," Henry growled as he looked at his list of outgoing calls.

Charles didn't ask if Henry was talking to the phone or him. Henry doubted Charles even cared. The only thing keeping Henry somewhat sane was knowing that, even if he couldn't compete with Pete's imaginary girlfriend, at least he could still get Charles to answer a booty call. It wasn't much to be proud of, but Henry was grasping at straws. He felt old and useless.

"You're in your twenties, Stitch," Charles pointed out as he half-carried Henry to the bedroom. "You're not old."

"I will be," Henry pointed out. "Because I keep getting older every day, but I'm not getting better. I'm not getting any smarter or wiser. I might be getting dimmer..."

Charles held his face and told him he was smart and a gifted writer.

Henry wanted to hear nice things and feel good about himself, but apparently his whiskey had been defective. He'd had half a bottle and he still couldn't believe a thing Charles said.

"The only reason you still want to fuck me is because you get off on knowing you still can. It makes you feel like a stud to know that no matter how many times you cheated on me, I still want you."

Charles didn't deny it; he just stroked Henry's hair and kissed him. Charles was tender and sweet, and it was close enough to being loved to make it all seem worthwhile.

xxx

Henry woke up confused and having sex. It was dark and he was face down on his bed, with his arms tied above his head, and getting a pretty rough shagging from the man on top of him. 

"Charles?" he asked.

"What is it, baby?"

"I just wanted to make sure it was still you and not some crackhead who broke into my apartment while I was passed out," seemed like an inappropriate thing to say during intercourse, so Henry said nothing. 

He was starting to think he needed to ease up on the drink and whatever it was in the baggie he'd gotten from Dave. It wasn't the first time he'd blacked out or fallen asleep (it was getting hard to tell the two apart) during sex with Charles. If Charles was disturbed, he never said anything. Henry wasn't sure he even noticed. 

Pete was noticing everything. Henry had taken to wearing nothing but long sleeves, but Pete would still occasionally get a glimpse of a wrist that was raw or bruised from some overly enthusiastic bondage. He commented on the rug burn on Stitch's back when he bent over to pick up his keys. One night, Charles had gotten a little too caught up in some breath play, and left bruises on Henry's neck. He had to wear rollnecks for weeks. He laughed uproariously when Pete asked if he had a "love bite". He wondered if you could have a love bruise from a love strangling.


	6. Chapter 6

"Poppy's pregnant."

Pete said it with complete seriousness, and more than a little fear.

"Come again?" Henry asked, pressing a cold bottle of water to his aching head. 

"She says she's going to have a baby, and she wants to keep it," Pete continued. "I don't know what to do! I'm not ready for this kind of responsibility."

"Poppy's not real, Pete," Henry reminded him, not for the first time. "The baby will be imaginary. You can imagine an imaginary nanny and pay her in imaginary money."

Pete threw himself into Henry's arms, hitting several bruises in the process, but feeling wonderful nonetheless.

"Thanks, Stitch," Pete murmured into Henry's collar. "You always know how to make me feel better. You're a good mate."

"You're a complete nutter."

Pete smiled and blushed, kicking at the floor with the toe of his trainer. "I know. It's just..."

"An imaginary something is better than a real nothing?" Henry offered, thinking of how he'd spent the last night topping Charles by candlelight and being called Stitch. 

Pete reached out to touch the healing burn on Henry's hand from a little hot wax experiment gone wrong. Henry jerked his hand back, not wanting to be reminded he was a crazy fuck-up in a crazy, fucked up relationship. When he was with Pete was when he was supposed to feel normal.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, but he softened when Pete looked hurt.

"You'll find someone special," Henry said in a gentle voice. "Someday, you'll be ready for a real girl again, and she'll be lucky to have you."

Pete looked so sweet and lovely as he again reached out for a hug that Henry had to push him away.

"Don't touch me."

He could be a good friend to Pete, or he could be close to him. He couldn't handle both.

xxx

Things started falling apart for Pete and Poppy after the pregnancy. Pete was miserable. Whatever he had been getting out of his strange, fake relationship had turned on him. Poppy was now a constant source of anxiety and rejection. It hurt to watch. Henry talked up every girl who came to the kiosk, trying to play cupid. Pete was no help; he was too wrapped up in his self-created drama to notice anyone. When Pete actually looked at Daisy, Henry played wingman. Normally, when girls asked if the store was named after Pete Sweet, Henry would step in and say, "No, he named himself after my kiosk."

To Daisy, he said, "Yes, this is Pete's shop. I'm his employee."

It worked. Pete and Daisy went on a date. They started dating. Pete started coming to work with love bites and the occasional scratch. He was happy and doing his dance every chance he got.

Henry was getting blind drunk and having rough sex with Charles almost every night. Charles could never be faithful when they were together, but now he was all Henry's. Apparently, Henry had been going about things all wrong before. He didn't need to be emotionally available or thoughtful; he just needed to be ready to lose his fucking mind to keep Charles interested. The more he fell apart, the more attentive Charles became. There was nothing but sex. No meals or movies or chatting, just drunken sex that was good enough to make Henry wonder why he'd even thought he needed more. He had Pete to talk to and eat with during the day, Jack Daniels to blot out his thoughts and feelings, and Charles to replace his psychic pain with good old fashioned physical pain. They had a safe word, but Henry never even considered using it. Charles seemed to have it all down to a science. Or maybe it was an art form. Charles was the DaVinci of sexual sadism.

Sometimes Pete would notice a bruise and look worried, but Henry told him to mind his business. He didn't want Pete knowing about his sex life. That would be awkward. It was best that Pete never understand things like sadism and masochism. 

Of course, it was better that Pete assume that Henry and Charles had nothing but violent and angry sex. If he knew about how they sometimes made gentle love while Henry thought about Pete...

It was better that Pete worry about the occasional bruise than know the real extent to which Henry was damaged.

xxx

"Guess wot? Poppy ain't pregnant after all!" Pete announced with a megawatt grin. "She was just testing me."

"And?"

"We're back together! I've missed her."

"What about Daisy?" Henry asked, "I thought things were going well."

Pete looked at his feet. "Daisy's great."

xxx

Henry told Daisy about Poppy. He wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish, but he was pretty sure that what Pete was doing wasn't healthy for anyone. Not even Dave needed to deal with the hassle of having someone cheating on his imaginary sister. Just because Dave's sister wasn't real didn't mean his feelings for her weren't.

The same could be said of Pete. He was quite fond of Daisy, but he clearly couldn't resist the pull of Poppy. Henry had imagined a real girl would have all kinds of advantages over an imaginary one, but that didn't seem to be the case. Pete seemed to prefer the company of Poppy, and had indicated the imaginary sex was better as well. Henry could hardly judge another person's sex life as being 'strange,' but he really didn't get the situation with Poppy. Pete had to have one hell of an imagination. Henry could just barely get off on his fantasies of Pete, and he had an actual person getting him off at the time. He could never get past the fact that something important was missing. Charles knew how to make Henry feel good, but he didn't know how to make him happy.

Maybe there was a part of Henry that wanted Pete to himself and that sabotaged his real relationship for selfish reasons. Henry thought about it all the time, questioning his own motives, but he couldn't feel sorry for what he'd done.

Of course it didn't turn Daisy off to learn about Poppy. She loved the idea; it was the kind of non-threatening wackiness that played right into her dramatic nature. 

When Pete showed up at what was now "their" boozer and punched Henry in the face, the surprise of the swing was worse than the hit itself. He'd never imagined Pete knowing how to throw a punch. He certainly didn't expect to be on the receiving end of violence from Pete. 

And when Pete actually kicked him while he was down, it broke something in Henry. His rib.


	7. Chapter 7

Pete waited on Henry hand and foot as he recovered. He made amazing (and hearty) homemade soups from scratch. Apparently his grandmother had owned a restaurant. Even when Henry was ready to re-open the kiosk (high off his tits on pain killers), Pete remained in full nursemaid mode. He fussed over Henry at work and then followed him home for some more of his Florence Nightingale routine. Since Henry wasn't physically or mentally up to his usual hijinx with Charles, he didn't put up a fuss. Besides, Pete had time on his hands now that Daisy and Poppy had run off together.

"You'll make someone a wonderful wife," Henry smirked as he leaned against his counter and tucked into another savory soup. Pete went red and stared at his shoes. 

"Just because I have sex with men doesn't mean that everything I say is a come on," Henry snapped. "Get over yourself."

Pete silently stared at his feet until Henry was ready to banish him from his flat.

Then Pete kissed him. It was hard and sloppy and involved a lot of tongue for a first kiss. Henry had just wrapped his brain around the kissing bit when Pete started unbuttoning his trousers.

"Not sure that's a great idea," Henry sighed, trying to put down his bowl of soup without spilling it. "Certainly not without a condom."

"I got johnnies," Pete mumbled as he patted his pockets. He produced three foil packages that he promptly dropped. Then Pete was on his knees, picking up the packets and staring at Henry's crotch.

It was the moment of truth. Or the opening of a porn film.

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, Pete, but it isn't necessary. I'm not angry. We're even." Henry had trouble forming the words; he felt exhausted. "I'm sorry I upset you. Let's just go back to being friends."

Pete was staring hard at a johnny, seeming to read the directions.

"Pete, you don't have to give me a blowie because your bony little foot broke my rib."

Looking up at Henry through his fringe, Pete looked every bit the fragile young man that he was.

"I know you fancy me a bit," Pete said softly. "And I..."

"I don't fancy you!" Henry laughed. "Are you mental? What made you think I fancied you?"

"In the hospital, when you got that shot for the pain..."

Henry groaned, which hurt his healing rib and made him groan again. 

"You can't listen to anything I say when I'm high," Henry explained, once he caught his breath. 

"Or when you're drunk?" Pete asked, widening his eyes like he was asking something meaningful. 

"Where are you going with this?" Henry asked, doing his best to look intimidating. He could usually keep Pete at a distance with an unfriendly look.

Pete pulled at his hair and averted his gaze. "Nowhere. You just... you say things when you're drunk."

Henry slammed his fist on the counter. He'd been trying to scare Pete into being quiet, but ended up doubled over in pain with Pete clucking over him like an androgynous mother hen. The problem with a broken rib was that every action made it radiate pain, from breathing to faking outrage.

Pete helped him to his room, so he could lie down on his bed and kill the pain the old fashioned way: with a mix of prescribed painkillers, weed, and off-license booze. 

"Everything about this seems wrong, Stitch," Pete whispered, as though there were coppers at the door. "This is how rock stars die. This is how people get started on heroin."

Henry laughed without malice at Pete's endless naïveté as he rolled a joint. Pete was nearly untouched by an ugly world that wanted to beat him to the ground. 

"I'm serious. I saw a documentary. Painkillers is what gets most people on heroin. It's cheaper to buy on the street than prescription painkillers. People think junkies just try every drug under the sun and land on heroin, but those people was just in pain. They was in pain, and then the thing that were helping them started ruining their lives."

Henry growled at Pete to "go away," but abandoned the joint and crawled under his duvet. He was feeling unaccountably exposed. 

"And alcohol mixed with painkillers is dangerous. You could overdose or have a stroke, 'cause they slow your body down..."

Henry covered his ears to block out the sound of Pete's voice, telling him things he already knew. His eyes were watering in a way that might make it appear he was crying, but Henry didn't cry. Something had broken in him when he was young, and he no longer felt those kinds of strong feelings. It was further proof that Pete was a gullible fool, that he was trying to comfort Henry. Only Pete Sweet would confuse what was happening to Henry's body for an actual human emotion. 

Henry dry swallowed his pills instead of taking a swig of vodka, not because he gave a shit if he lived or died, but because it mattered to Pete. The kid had been through enough without losing a friend and a lousy job working in a kiosk in one fell swoop. If Henry was going to asphyxiate on his own vomit, he wanted to do it alone. With dignity. 

As the drugs made Henry woozy, Pete somehow managed to end up under the duvet and in his arms. Henry heard a voice going on about Pete's beauty and overall goodness as the boy sniffled. Although it only made sense that the voice was probably Henry's, it seemed unlikely that he would be getting all soppy on a few painkillers. 

Maybe Pete had moved on to an imaginary boyfriend. That made more sense.

xxx

Henry woke up with a painfully full bladder, and a numb arm trapped under one Pete Sweet.

"Wake up, Pete," he said gruffly as he shook Pete's shoulder. Pete startled awake and promptly looked under the blanket, clearly checking to see if he was naked. Henry laughed and his whole body hurt.

"I didn't rape you in your sleep," Henry snapped. "Help me up. My arm is asleep."

Pete stumbled out of bed and tried ineffectively to haul Henry to his feet, as if his skinny arms could ever lift Henry. Henry batted away the bony and unhelpful hand and dragged himself up. His right arm felt like a piece of meat. Pete helped him shake his limp arm until the pain of pins and needles assured Henry he hadn't had a stroke in his sleep.

Henry shook Pete off and headed to the toilet. His memory was returning in bits and pieces. Things were going to be awkward. He desperately wanted to take a long shower, but he needed to have Pete quickly and thoroughly scared off so he could get back to being miserable in private.

Henry was ready to tell Pete off as soon as he stepped into the hallway, but Pete was already pushing his way into the bathroom. Henry leaned against the wall and waited patiently, trying to settle on the worst thing he could say to Pete. He could say Pete had turned him straight. He could say he wanted a serious relationship, but he could only achieve orgasm while listening to free-form jazz. 

Henry knew how to scare people away.

When Pete called through the door, asking if he could borrow a toothbrush, Henry automatically told him, "Top right drawer," instead of,"Piss off."

He was still working on his lines when Pete opened the door and kissed him on the mouth. Henry could have saved the situation by acting quickly. One quick sucker punch, and Pete would have been out the door.

Instead, Henry fell into the kiss and held Pete as tightly as he could without re-breaking his rib.


	8. Chapter 8

In addition to delicious soups, Pete made a hell of a pancake. 

"You're cleaning up this mess," Henry snapped as he dug into a scrumptious banana and blueberry pancake. When Pete said he'd make pancakes, Henry had half expected them to be imaginary. He was surprised to learn he even had the ingredients for a pancake. When Henry looked around his kitchen, he only saw the makings of a cheese sandwich or takeout.

"I like to cook," Pete said as he twirled his hair. "I don't like eating so much. I mostly like sweets and stuff, but I like being in the kitchen. I can do the cooking and you'll do the cleaning. Genius."

"What are you talking about? When will you be doing the cooking?"

Pete shrugged. "I dunno. Whenever we move in together. We'd save loads of money sharing a flat."

"Have you been smoking my stuff? Pete, I got that from Dave. Who knows what it's laced with. How many fingers am I holding up?" Henry held three fingers in front of Pete's glazed eyes.

Pete giggled and shoved a hunk of pancake in his mouth. He ate noisily, like a child.

"Pete, I'm serious," Henry tried in a gentle tone. "You aren't making any sense."

"You know," Pete giggled, "after we've been together for a while. I ain't trying to rush things."

"What makes you think we're together?" Henry asked, wondering what he'd said in his pain- and drug-fueled stupor. 

"We spent last night snugglin' in your bed," Pete laughed. "That's got to count as a first date! That was genius, by the way. The one downside to dating Poppy is cuddling just wasn't the same. No body heat, you know?"

"I can imagine."

Pete grinned. "You can imagine? I can imagine!"

Henry had to laugh, and then he had to wrap his arms around his injured rib.

Pete's face softened.

"I'm really sorry, Stitch. I thought I could never hurt you, and then I went and did worse damage than Charles ever did."

Henry wanted to argue with every aspect of the statement, but there was a strange lump in his throat. Henry wondered if it was cancer.

"I don't even know why I was so upset. I know Poppy weren't real, and in a way, Daisy weren't real either. I was just so mad." Pete hung his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, Pete. I really am. I should have talked to you, but..." Henry couldn't even imagine what he would have said to Pete. That was the problem. Henry had only a vague idea of what he wanted from his own life, and stumbled through his days in an apathetic haze. What advice could he possibly offer to Pete?

"I know it's hard for you to talk about things," Pete said, looking oddly grave. "You're not all that comfortable having feelings, you certainly don't want to go around talking about them. I mean, what are you? French?"

Either Pete had been possessed by the spirit of Henry's grandfather, or Henry had been discussing his family when he was hammered. Henry had always planned to leave his old life in Leeds, but it had never quite worked out. His roots were always showing.

"I was a dick. I'm sorry. As soon as I'm able to dance again, we'll hit the clubs and find you a nice, real, not certifiably crazy girl," Henry offered with his nicest smile. 

Pete gave him a quizzical look. "Why would I need a girl? I got you now."

There were so many things wrong with Pete's statement, Henry wasn't sure how to respond. 

So he shut up and finished his pancakes.

xxz

Hours went by, and Pete didn't leave. He made lunch, and then he took a shower. The drain looked like it was wearing a wig when he was done. He wasn't doing anything especially romantic or sexual; he just kept bopping around Henry's apartment like he belonged there.

Henry had never been a heavy smoker, but he'd planned to lay off the fags while his rib healed. Naturally, biology being a cold-hearted and irony-loving bitch, Henry suddenly developed a cough as his lungs eagerly tried to clear themselves of tar. The only way to ease the coughing was to smoke. Each time he climbed out onto the fire escape to have a smoke, Pete followed him, taking the occasional drag off of Henry's cigarette.

"Since when do you smoke?" Henry asked, remembering how Pete had coughed until tears rolled down his cheeks any time he'd tried to smoke in the past.

"I practiced," Pete explained, looking at his feet. "With Poppy."

"Why would you practice smoking?" Henry asked, unable to restrain his laughter. Pete was so delightfully odd. "You don't want to take up smoking."

Pete shrugged. "You hardly ever smoke, 'cept when you're with Charles. You always smell like an ashtray after you've been with him."

Henry wanted to hide. Pete seemed to be seeing everything with his luminous eyes. When they'd been together, Henry had made Charles go outside to light up. Henry hated for his flat to smell of smoke, but recently, he and Charles had been smoking in bed. The headache-inducing scent that lingered was just another reminder that Henry had lost complete control of his life. 

"And the stench made you think you should take up smoking?" Henry asked in a teasing tone.

Pete thought about it for a moment and nodded. "S'pose so."

Pete had a naive way about him that made everything he did a little sexy, so Henry wasn't surprised that Pete made smoking downright pornographic. He closed his eyes when he inhaled, chewed on his lip and stroked the fag between draws, and then puckered his lips when he exhaled. 

"Smoking will stunt your growth," Stitch snapped, snatching the fag from Pete's mouth.

Pete tilted his head and chewed on his lower lip.

"Pretty sure I'm all grown up already, Stitch."

xxx

"Why don't you go out, enjoy your Saturday night?" Henry suggested as it got dark. "You've played nursemaid long enough."

"I am enjoying my Saturday night," Pete countered, snuggling into Henry's side as they sat on the couch. "Let's watch a movie. Something funny that we'll both understand."

Henry stroked his thumb along Pete's sharp cheekbone.

"You're so..."

"So what?" Pete asked in a breathy voice. It nearly made Henry lose what was left of his mind.

"Fucking weird," Henry finished. "You're certifiable. You know that, right?"

Pete laughed and rubbed his cheek against Henry's hand like a cat. "But I got a good heart, right?"

Henry was feeling a bit panicky about his loose lips under the influence. He literally had no idea what he'd said to Pete, and it was terrifying. Henry had a lot of secrets from Pete. There were things Henry had never even considered a secret until he'd realized Pete had been hearing his drunken confessions. 

"I'm so very fond of you," Henry began, feeling awkward and stiff. "You're a good friend and you are very attractive..."

Pete blushed and fussed with his hair, seeming to miss the whole "I'm letting you down gently" aspect of what Henry was saying. He'd have to be more direct.

"But you like girls, and I like men," Henry said, before clarifying, "Men who like men."

"I like you," Pete giggled. "You and one of my English teachers, Mr. Todd, and Bowie and Jagger, 'course, and... Oh, Stephen Fry. I know that's a little weird, but he's so smart and always sounds so posh. I think it would be like having sex with Father Christmas."

Henry briefly wondered if Pete imagined Father Christmas as being smart and posh, but decided not to go headfirst into the rabbit hole. 

"Being attracted to a handful of celebrities isn't the same as being bisexual," Henry pointed out. "You're confusing a harmless crush with..."

"Harmful love?" 

Henry wrapped his arm around Pete. "You're very sweet. You've had a rough time of it..."

"So've you," Pete added.

"I didn't lose someone the way you did, and I think..."

"But you lost people, too."

The sane thing to do would be to simply ask Pete what he meant, but it was easier to worry about which losses he'd been boo-hooing about than to actually know what he'd said.

"Maybe you're thinking that it would be easy being with me, compared to a woman..."

Pete laughed. "No way, Stitch! You're the most complicated person I know. You're like a Merchant-Ivory film."

Henry nearly swooned; he had always wanted to be complicated. He'd always preferred his partners to be older, but it was suddenly clear that he should only date the terribly young: barely legal kids who were too inexperienced to know the difference between complicated and fucked up beyond repair. 

"But I'm not a film, am I? I'm just a person. No plot, no lessons to be learned. No Anthony Hopkins to delight and amaze, with his subtle acting and piercing blue eyes."

Pete giggled. "Your eyes don't pierce. They're way too shifty to pierce anything!"

"That's just one of my many physical flaws. My body is a pale and flabby husk surrounding a pile of insecurity and bullshit," Henry explained, trying not to laugh at Pete's sincere enthusiasm. Pete refused to stop being cheerful long enough for Henry to end what Pete seemed to think was a budding romance.

Pete laughed and leaned on Henry's shoulder, putting his hand on Henry's chest. "You're mental, Stitch. I like your shifty eyes. I like everything about you."

"I'm an asshole."

"Not really," countered Pete. "You're just sad sometimes. I'm the same way."

Henry couldn't argue when Pete's hand was slowly moving down from Henry's chest to his belly. Pete was the opposite of Henry's usual type, but he was undeniably attractive. If he weren't also Henry's closest friend, he would have simply gone for it. Pete was beautiful and momentarily available, and there was no good reason for Henry to not take advantage of his good luck.

Except for the fact that he knew the extent to which Pete was damaged and vulnerable.

Henry took Pete's hand before it could move below his waist and kissed it before returning it to his chest. Pete looked quizzical, but he just shrugged and snuggled into Henry's side. 

"I'm not trying to push you," Pete explained, sounding like his usual sunny self. "Whenever you're up to it."

Pete covered his mouth and giggled at his accidental pun. Henry was more than 'up to it,' but he wasn't about to ruin a friendship with sex. Especially not sober sex.


	9. Chapter 9

Pete spent a second night in Henry's bed. Henry had relented without much of a fight. It was hard to turn down a friendly, warm body at the best of times, and Henry was not having the best of times. Pete didn't make any more advances, but he gave Henry a chaste kiss good night before settling in for an evening of blanket stealing, snoring and pressing his near-constant erection against any available portion of Henry's body. Henry spent most of the night awake and painfully sober. He was taking the painkillers properly, and it was terrible. The physical pain was bearable, but the pills were doing nothing to ease the constant pounding in his head or the stress that was causing it.

Henry watched four AM come and go before he finally fell asleep. When he woke up, it was to a cheese sandwich, gazing at him with olives for eyes and a mayonnaise smile.

"You hardly got any food here," Pete explained. "I was going to go to the store, but I felt funny leaving you here, sleeping. You looked like you were having a rough time."  
Henry dimly remembered dreaming that Pete was pregnant and that Henry had gotten a job translating at the French consulate, even though he only knew a handful of words. It was safe to say his stress had crept into his dreams.

"I'm fine, Pete. Enjoy your day off. You can be my nurse tomorrow at work. You don't have to do it on the weekends as well."

Pete twisted his mouth into his 'I'm thinking hard' face.

"Can I ask a question, Stitch? And you'll be honest?"

Henry stared at his sandwich as he nodded. He had no intention of being honest, but he'd say anything to appease Pete and hopefully get him to go home. Henry was dying for some serious pain relief, and his rib was the least of his problems. 

"Are you putting me off 'cause you think I can't..." Pete was grappling for a word, and Henry was approaching a full-blown panic attack. "Well, do the things you need? 'Cause I been thinking about it..."

"Pete, please go home and leave me alone," Henry was aiming for authoritative but it just sounded like a whine. "I love you, but I can't deal with your craziness right now."

Pete only responded to the part where Henry said, "I love you." The rest of his words fell on deaf ears.

"I love you, too, Stitch," Pete cried before hugging Henry so enthusiastically he nearly knocked the sandwich out of his hands. "You'll see. It's all going to work out fine. I been thinking about us..."

"I've been thinking, as well," Henry interjected. "About how your first girlfriend was sick and how you suddenly want to be my boyfriend, now that I'm injured."

"That's not true."

"It's absolutely true! You think you broke me and you want to fix me..." Henry watched Pete squirm, confirming his theory. "But I can't be fixed. No amount of soup is going to make me better than I am right now. I appreciate what you're trying to do, I really do. I'm sure I've meant every word I've slurred into your ear while I've been pissed, but I'm the wrong project for you. Honestly, Pete. Do you think you need another hopeless case?"

Pete was sitting on the side of Henry's bed, kicking his feet like a child. Henry ate his amazingly tasty sandwich as Pete chewed over Henry's words. He was just about to ask where Pete had gotten the flavored mayonnaise when the boy finally spoke.

"Charles scared me that first night. Honestly, I didn't even know you liked boys before he told me you two were lovers. He kept talking about things you liked, and I just felt stupid. I never did any of those things. Me and Jane did things, but we didn't... you know."

Henry nodded that he knew. He'd had a fairly vanilla sex life before Charles. Even if he cut Charles out of his life completely, he would always haunt Henry's bedroom.

"I guess that's why I started up with Poppy," Pete continued. "I kept thinking about all the things I'd never done, and how you thought I was like a little kid."

The sandwich was suddenly churning in Henry's stomach. The idea that he'd been the reason Pete needed an imaginary girlfriend had never crossed his mind. If anything, he'd seen Poppy as a defense to keep Henry at bay. 

"Pete... you know I wasn't in cahoots with Charles, right? I wasn't trying to set something up. That was all him. I'm sorry I left you alone with him, but I thought he'd realize you were straight and leave you alone. He doesn't usually chase after straight boys."

"As soon as you left us alone, Charles asked if we were... fucking," Pete whispered the word like he was speaking to his school mistress, rather than a friend. "I told him we weren't even really mates, that I was trying, but you just saw me as a kid. Then he started telling me about... things I could do to get your attention. I was a little freaked out, and then as soon as you opened the bathroom door, he started kissing my neck and it was well awkward. I talked to Poppy about it... I mean, I thought about it, and I think it was all just for you. I think he was trying to scare me away and make you like me even less 'cause he wants you all to himself, but he ain't willing to put the work in."

"He wasn't trying to scare you away, Pete. He was trying to get a leg over."

Pete's eyes were saucer-like as he vehemently shook his head.

"He weren't interested in me... Well, maybe he was interested, but... it was always really about you."

It was a nice idea, that Henry inspired strong feelings in Charles, or anyone, for that matter. It would be easy to lose himself in Pete's fantasy world and pretend Henry was in high demand. He didn't pull away when Pete pressed a kiss to his cheek. He was passive as Pete kissed his jawline and neck, his hands never straying below Henry's waist, but still exploring and eager.

Henry pulled Pete into his bed, wrapping them both in his duvet as they exchanged gentle kisses. It somehow felt absurdly innocent. 

Like Pete Sweet.  
xxx

Henry and Pete went shopping and filled Henry's shelves with sugary cereals and his refrigerator with fizzy drinks. He bought everything Pete wanted, feeling like a pedophile trying to lure his wide-eyed friend into the back of a van.

In reality, Henry was offering no threat to Pete. At least not of the sexual variety. An hour of snogging had led to nothing but one fleeting squeeze of Pete's arse. Henry was horny, frustrated, confused and craving another cheese sandwich. Pete had promised to make him a whole line of flavored mayonnaise. 

"Gram always said life's in the details, and condiments are details. Don't take much to make it special, but most people never think about it. They just settle for what's there."

"Did she say the bit about the mayo, or was that your observation?"

Pete laughed. "I added the part about the condiments, but I know she'd agree. She was a wise nana." 

"So her name was Jane?" Henry blurted out before he had time to chicken out. "Your girl?"

Pete looked heartbroken and giddy at the same time.

"She was genius, Stitch. I called her Glamorous Jane, cause she were the opposite of a Plain Jane. And she called me Sweet Pete."

Henry put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "Is that why you came to my kiosk?"

Pete laughed with tears shining in his eyes. "It was like a sign. It was an actual sign, but it was also a symbolic sign, too. I didn't know what to do with myself, and then there was a sign that said 'Sweet Music,' and then 'Help Wanted'. Then I saw you."

Henry tried to imagine how he'd looked to Pete that day. Tall. Scruffy. Handsome? Plain?

"You looked so sad. I just wanted to make you happy," Pete continued.

"I wasn't sad. Bored, maybe."

"Maybe," Pete agreed, but he looked unconvinced. "I guess I wanted to make you not bored."

"You succeeded," Henry replied with absolute sincerity.

Pete wrapped his arms around Henry and took a deep breath. "I like how you smell."


	10. Chapter 10

Pete made meat pies for dinner. They were so good, Henry closed his eyes while he chewed. Pete giggled and blushed and clapped his hands with glee like a child. Henry was a goner. 

When Pete climbed into Henry's bed for the third time, he was wearing nothing but Henry's t-shirt and y-fronts. Pete didn't have a change of clothes and refused to leave Henry's side, so his clothes had been washed out in the sink and were hanging in the shower to dry. 

Henry's shirt hung down to Pete's knees. It made Henry feel big and manly, which in turn made him feel like a Neanderthal. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Pete kissed Henry on the cheek. 

"I like normal sex," Henry blurted out. "I'm not some kind of freak."

Pete gave him an angelic smile. 

"I've been sexually rejected by my imaginary girlfriend," Pete said softly. "You really think I don't understand? I mean, I don't know exactly what you... need, but I understand... needing."

Henry wanted to wrap Pete up in a fuzzy blanket and keep him safe from the cruel and ugly world. He also wanted to roger his brains out. Possibly both at the same time.

When he went in for a kiss, Pete let out a gasp. It was the kind of unfiltered enthusiasm that had been Henry's undoing from the very beginning. Pete was out of his mind, and yet he was so fucking present. 

He rolled Pete onto his back, running his hand up Pete's thigh. It felt a bit dirty to sneak his fingers under the hem of the oversized t-shirt. Henry hadn't spent much time putting his hand up skirts. With a man, he was usually working his way down from the waist. As with everything else, Pete managed to turn a simple feel-up on its head. Pete was eagerly tonguing him as Henry's hand moved up his thigh. His kisses were a bit sloppy, but charmingly eager. If he looked at it from a certain angle and squinted his eyes, Henry was doing Pete a favor. The world was full of people who wanted to crush innocence anywhere it popped up, like a game of sexual whack-a-mole. Charles was that kind of person, but Henry wanted to preserve Pete for posterity. He moved his hand to the inside of Pete's thigh, inches below his borrowed pants, and coaxed his legs apart. Pete was flushed and wide-eyed, but eager to follow Henry's lead. When Henry ran his thumb along the length of Pete's cotton covered cock, the younger man shuddered before pulling Henry down on top of him.

"You're a really good kisser," Pete panted. 

Henry wasn't sure what to say, so he said, "Thank you."

"Just so you know, I'm good for anything," Pete whispered in his ear. "I been thinkin' about it, and I'm serious. Anything."

Henry laughed, because Pete had no idea what he was offering. Then he winced because he still had a stupid broken rib to remind him that he wasn't just a freak, he was also a bit of a dick.

Pete stroked the sides of his face as Henry took shallow breaths and waited for the pain to recede.

"I'm so sorry, Stitch," Pete said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to really hurt you. I didn't think I could hurt you at all. That's why I was so mad in the first place."

It wasn't the time to have a heart to heart, with Pete's cheeks flushed with excitement and his erection pushing against Henry's belly, but Henry had come to a horrible realization: he was in love with Pete "Sweet" McDougall. He wasn't just attracted or attached; he wanted to spend the rest of his life eating flavored mayonnaise and watching Pete do his dance. If one of them had a womb, he'd want to have babies with Pete. Mentally ill babies with stupid hair and fragile egos.

Henry cupped his hand over Pete's crotch and watched him moan and grind his hips. There wasn't an inhibited bone in Pete's scrawny little body. His cock was about the same size as Charles's. On Charles, it looked proportional. On Pete, it looked like an elephant trunk. Henry's mind filled with possibilities. There were so many ways they could make each other feel good. He was confused when Pete suddenly pushed his hand away.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he scrambled off of Pete. 

Pete covered his face and laughed. "Nothin's wrong. It was just..."

"Just…?"

Pete sat up and pulled his legs to his chest.

"I'm just, you know, excited."

Henry knocked Pete onto his back, ignoring the pain in his rib as he snogged the young man senseless. He carefully avoided touching Pete below the waist, even as his partner desperately thrust his hips into the air. 

Henry pushed Pete's legs apart and trailed kisses on his inner thighs as the younger man whimpered and made vague pleas.

"Oh, Stitch. Please. Anything, Stitch."

He mouthed Pete's balls through the white cotton pants and learned the hard way to hold Pete in place after nearly getting a black eye from each of his thin and flailing limbs.

Henry licked at the tip of Pete's cock, tasting the precum leaking through the material. Pete was gripping Henry's hair hard enough to hurt and whimpering for more. Henry's good sense told him to take things slow.

He kissed and caressed Pete through his pants, stroking the cleft of his ass and his puckered entrance as he gently sucked Pete's cock. Henry was wondering if it was too soon to lick a finger and begin stretching Pete when the young man suddenly jerked in Henry's hands and in his mouth. 

Henry hoped that Pete was having safe sex when he was real partners, because the kind of breathable cotton that kept a man's junk from sweating off didn't act as much of a barrier. 

When he looked up at Pete, he found his friend red-faced and pulling a comically sorrowful face. 

"Sorry," Pete squeaked. "Bit excited there."

Henry slipped his fingers inside Pete's pants. For a man recently in a three-way relationship, Pete seemed to have been pretty backed up. Henry eased a semen-covered finger inside of Pete, whose entire body seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy. 

"I'm not going to try and fuck you," Henry promised. "I'm just admiring... exploring, that is."

"You can, if you like," Pete offered with his incongruous sweetness. "Charles says you like it both ways."

Henry sighed at the mention of Charles and withdrew his finger. He was going to need an exorcism to get Charles out of his bedroom and his relationship with Pete.

"We can do whatever you like best," Pete continued. "I never done it with a bloke, but..."

"But what?" Henry prompted, feeling a million years old in the face of Pete's dogged optimism.

"I know I'll like it with you. You're a genius, Stitch."

Henry laughed at the idea. He was having frequent, unsettling sex with his cheating ex-boyfriend, pining over an insane straight boy, and using his degree in writing to run a music kiosk. What a genius.

"I need a drink," Henry admitted. "My rib hurts, and I can't stop thinking..."

"Don't have to explain yourself to me, Stitch. Never."

Henry wiped tears from his eyes as he poured himself a shot of Jack Daniels. Then he dumped the shot into a tumbler and filled the rest of the glass. Even twenty-four hours away from drinking had been enough to return some feeling to his abused esophagus, and the liquor burned his throat before filling him with a familiar warmth. He heard Pete follow him into the kitchen, but he remained focused on his glass.

Pete wrapped his arms around Henry's waist, resting his head between Henry's shoulder blades.

"I wish I could make you feel better."

"You do," Henry replied. On some levels, it was true.

Henry continued to drink as Pete hesitantly worked his fingers under the waistband of Henry's pants. The erection that had flagged while he contemplated the disaster that was his life immediately sprang back to life.

When Pete's hand gently closed around his cock, giving him a few hesitant strokes, Henry asked, "Why are you here?"

"'Cause I love you," Pete answered without missing a beat. "And you need me."

Henry allowed himself to be turned around and kissed, but when Pete tried to get on his knees, Henry grabbed him under the armpits and pulled him up like a little kid.

"Not without a johnny. You know where I've been."


	11. Chapter 11

Pete was bouncing on the bed as he wrestled with the foil wrapper. The more he thought about it, the more Henry was concerned about being safe with Pete. He and Charles had always used protection in the past, but Henry had been blackout drunk during many of their recent activities. Charles had always claimed to practice safe sex, but Henry had realized far too late that Charles had been who Henry wanted him to be. Charles was a successful businessman because of his uncanny ability to be a chameleon and take on the qualities of those around him. Henry had been another deal that Charles could close every time.

"Pete, I'm not sure this is such a good idea," Henry said, wishing his erection weren't so obviously disagreeing with him.

Pete laughed.

"I'm serious."

"I know you are!" Pete giggled. "You're always serious, Stitch. Blowies ain't serious!"

"What is serious?" Henry asked, sincerely interested.

"Bummin' is serious," Pete said, before being overcome by another wave of giggles. "Bummin' doesn't sound serious, does it? It sounds like a dance."

Pete stood up on the bed and wiggled his bare arse, it what he must have imagined to be a dance called 'bummin.' He dropped back to his knees, shaking the bed and causing Henry to grimace in pain.

"Sorry, Stitch. I'm just nervous. I really want this to be good." Pete spoke with such unfettered sincerity, Henry wanted to hide.

Which was hard to do when he was completely naked.

Pete became serious when he began carefully rolling the condom onto Henry's cock, so serious he was sticking his tongue out a little. It was so endearingly silly, Henry felt like he was falling in love all over again. 

Pete gave a few hesitant licks before commenting that the flavored condom tasted like a jelly tot. That was the end of the speaking portion of their interlude. Pete was clearly inexperienced, but he was enthusiastic and daring. He gagged and coughed a few times, but it wasn't long until he was making Henry's eyes roll back into his head. He was careful to keep his hips still and his hand gentle as he stroked Pete's hair. At random intervals, Pete would suddenly giggle or nuzzle his face into Henry's thigh. Henry found himself chuckling in spite of himself. Pete's enthusiasm was infectious, if a bit disconcerting.

When Henry said he was close, Pete lifted his head and gave Henry a few lazy strokes with his hand. He was wearing an angelic smile and looked like he couldn't imagine anything better than going down on Henry Dulcy. Poppy's fake pregnancy seemed normal compared to such lunacy. 

"Why me?" Henry asked impulsively. 

Pete twisted his face to show he was deep in thought.

"When I first saw Jane, I didn't know she had been sick'n'all. I just thought she had great hair, and when she smiled at me... I just loved her. Just like that."

"I don't have great hair," Henry pointed out.

"And you hardly ever smile," Pete added. "You were frowning when I came to the kiosk, and I felt so nervous, but then you smiled when I told you my name was Pete Sweet..."

"And I called you out on lying about your name."

"But it was amazin'! You have a great smile, Henry. It makes your little eyes crinkle up and sometimes they disappear altogether!"

Henry tried to keep his eyes wide, but he couldn't help smiling. 

"That's it!" Pete squealed, never stopping the slow movement of his hand. When Pete suddenly lowered his mouth back to Henry's cock, he bobbed his head with gusto and made cheerfully obscene noises. Henry gripped his sheets and told himself he was a grown man and not a horny teen, but it didn't help. He came quickly, and so hard it hurt his rib. 

Henry took another shot of whiskey and positioned he and Pete on their sides, with Pete's back to Henry's chest. 

 

"I didn't think you'd be one for spooning," Pete teased.

"I'm just trying to keep you still," Henry retorted. "I'm sick of you stealing my blankets."

xxx

Henry brought his laptop to the kiosk every day and wrote during the all-too-frequent customerless moments. Pete was valiantly doing his best to handle customers on his own. It was his idea that Henry should write a script. Daisy and Poppy had broken up, and now Daisy was dating a filmmaker named Gel (short for Nigel). Henry was not at all surprised that Daisy wanted to be an actress. What did surprise him was she had landed a filmmaker boyfriend with talent. Having gotten a grant to make a short film, Gel was in search of the kind of script that would get him noticed.

Gel was intrigued by the Pete/Poppy/Daisy love triangle. He just needed a script. 

Henry was supposedly a writer. It hadn't sounded like a bad idea when he was half in the bag and Pete was sitting in his lap, calling him a monkey genius. Everything sounded like a good idea when Pete was in Henry's lap. That was why they now had not one but two puppies.

It wasn't helping with his efforts to slow down the drinking, as he couldn't write a word without a shot of liquid courage. On the other hand, he couldn't drink too much without losing his capacity to format a script. It was a fine line to walk.

Pete hovered over Henry's shoulder, trying not to read without permission, but seemingly convinced that his confidence in Henry's abilities could be transferred through osmosis. Pete repeatedly told Henry he was clever, witty, and (of course) genius. The very fact he and Henry had been lovers for over a month and Pete hadn't gone running was proof that Pete's judgment was impaired.

Their lovemaking was still careful and hesitant, as Pete worried about Henry's healing rib and Henry worried that he might be a cesspool of sexually transmitted diseases. He'd been tested, and so far he was 'clean', but he'd need several follow-ups before he could be certain. Some diseases were time bombs, hiding until they were ready to explode. Henry could relate to that. 

So they exchanged hand jobs and blowies and snuggled like a couple of kittens. Pete asked only one thing of Henry: that he not sleep with Charles. It was a strange request, but Pete seemed very concerned that Charles would come sniffing around, now that Henry was taken.

Henry couldn't pretend it was a totally baseless fear on Pete's side. Pete was loving, passionate, sweet, attentive, and kind. There were many nights where Henry laid awake and wondered what the fuck Pete saw in him. The self-destructive impulses were still there, and sometimes Henry did miss Charles. He missed feeling out of control and lost, and forgetting about his real pain with a little pretend pain. Pete was not only childlike in his demeanor: he had a child's understanding of the world. He didn't understand taxes or parliament or climate change. He didn't even know how to vote. Henry had not been surprised to learn that Pete's father had never been in the picture, but he was a bit surprised to learn Pete's mother was a magistrate. Although Pete described her as loving, she hadn't been especially present. Hence, young Pete had spent his days in his grandmother's restaurant. He'd been raised with a lot of love, and yet he'd often been neglected. Henry was well aware that he was the wrong person to try and guide anyone through the world. What could he teach Pete, other than how to waste his education and just barely scrape out a living?

So Henry worked on a script and hoped he was talented. He'd always performed well in school, but a lot of that could be chalked up to being a good student. There was a big difference between utilizing proper sentence structure and actually being a good writer.


	12. Chapter 12

Henry had finished a script and everyone agreed it was terrible, but it was a first draft, and that was worth celebrating. Henry knew he needed to loosen up and get out of his own head for a while, so he and Pete put on their matching shirts and went dancing. Henry wasn't especially keen on dancing, but he was very keen on watching Pete bounce around the floor like a bunny on methamphetamines. 

Henry spotted Dave, but made a vow to himself that he would not end up bouncing around the floor like a gangly scarecrow who was actually on methamphetamines. He had decided to avoid all drugs until his script was truly finished. He was sticking to alcohol. And maybe a little coke. Or marijuana. 

Henry took a deep breath and counted to ten before he ended smoking crack with a needle in his arm. When he opened his eyes, Pete was smiling up at him.

"You're a genius, Stitch. You don't have to worry so much."

Henry would have argued with Pete's wildly erroneous statement, but his mouth was occupied by Pete's tongue. A few people were staring when Henry remembered they were snogging in public, but it was a trendy enough place that most of the patrons were indifferent. Henry had always felt a little awkward about his homosexuality. He'd never had to pretend to be straight; people just assumed it. He just fed into the assumption. Henry wasn't one for making scenes or drawing attention to himself. Just as he could never raise his voice to draw the attention of a waiter, he couldn't announce his sexuality or make his curly hair look neat. He just had to stumble through awkward situations and be constantly told he didn't 'look' gay. Now, he had Pete to tip people off by constantly holding his hand and kissing him in public. It was almost as if Pete were constantly forgetting he loved Henry. Out of nowhere, he would have a sudden need to rain affection on Henry, and it didn't matter who was watching. It was embarrassing.

It was also nice.

xxx

Henry washed his face in the men's room sink. Pete was still dancing, and would continue to do so until Henry admitted he was tired and dragged him home. Henry had a few alcopops in his system and was feeling inspired. The sugary drinks made him feel lightheaded, and he suddenly knew how he should start his script. It would begin with Pete introducing himself and doing his dance. If anything summed up Pete, it was the fact that he never needed music to do his dance.

"Hey there, Stitch."

Henry was so lost in his thoughts, he jumped.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to compose himself. Charles had never been one for clubs, but he was looking the part. His clothes were trendy and tight, and his normally neat hair was artfully mussed.

Charles shrugged. "What are you doing here? You hate dancing and pop music... and people."

Henry tried to stifle a smile. It was easier to hate Charles when he wasn't around. 

"I'm here with Pete. We're together," Henry explained, feeling foolish. "I mean... we're together."

Charles chuckled and patted Henry's arm.

"Good for you, Stitch. He's adorable."

"He's a really good person," Henry snapped, hating the defensive note creeping into his tone. There was no reason for him to have to defend his relationship.

"He's very sweet and he cares about you a lot," Charles agreed, moving closer and trapping Henry between the row of sinks and the toilets. He'd have to squeeze past Charles's broad frame to leave.

"He's really..." Henry scrambled to think of something to say, other than that Pete was sweet and caring and adorable. "He's terrific."

Charles gave him a sympathetic smile, like he pitied Henry the burden of having someone kind and uncynical in his bed. Henry tried to duck when Charles reached out to stroke his hair, but there was no room.

"Relax! I was just checking for hair gel. I don't want to get in the way of your fairytale romance. We fairies have to stick together."

"What do you want from me, Charles?"

Charles smirked. "You know what I want, just like I know what you want."

"I'm perfectly happy having a nice, healthy, faithful relationship with Pete. Thank you."

"Of course," Charles said with a sudden and surprising bitterness. "Because you are so good at knowing what you want."

Henry refused to ask, but he couldn't make himself push his way out of the room without hearing what Charles had to say. Charles leaned back and looked casual as someone came in to use the urinal. His face and tone were friendly as he spoke.

"Then you get bored, because no one is ever quite clever or complicated enough, are they? No one is as interesting as the characters in your head."

"What are you talking about?" Henry whispered, quickly losing his girlie drink buzz.

"You were more interested in me after the cheating started. Don't try to deny it. How long are you going to be happy with your little ball of sunshine out there? You've spent months pretending not to notice that he's gagging for a bumming, because he's more interesting if he's unattainable."

"Bollocks," was Henry's clever reply as he tried to brush past Charles. Charles shoved him back against the wall—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to be intimidating. For all the rough sex play, Charles had never pushed him outside of the bedroom before.

"No. He was ready to let us double team him, just so you'd acknowledge he has a dick, but you were determined to protect him from big, bad Charles." 

Henry gave an apologetic smile to the man scrambling to tuck himself in and get away from their personal conversation.

"I would never let you touch Pete," Henry growled once they were alone, surprised at his own anger. "You wouldn't even understand someone like Pete."

"Why?" Charles asked with a smirk that didn't fit in with his carefully cultivated cool. Henry couldn't remember ever seeing Charles really angry before. "Because I'll lead him to a life of freaky-deaky sex? Oh no! Bullshit. That's all you, buddy. You've got the attention span of a goldfish in bed. I had to keep upping the ante... Do you think I just owned a set of nipple clamps?"

A man stepped in and then straight back out of the restroom at the mention of nipple clamps. Part of Henry's brain filed it away as a story that would someday be funny. Someday far in the future. 

"I never asked for any of that..."

"No, you just sighed and acted like it was a chore every time I tried to get something started, like some bored housewife. You think you're so much smarter and more complicated than anyone else, and you're the only one who has a clue about anything. We're all minor players in your drama, Stitch."

"Let me out of here," Henry tried to demand (but it sounded more like a plea). "We're done here."

Charles gave a derisive laugh before pinning Henry to the wall and kissing him. Henry had no leverage, until Charles moved his hand to Henry's ass. He managed to get one arm between them and had just begun to push when he heard the door slam. Henry was too embarrassed to even look at their latest spectator, until he heard Pete's voice.

"Back off, Charles! Stitch ain't interested anymore," Pete said with a surprising amount of authority. "And we have to get home before the puppies piss all over the carpets."

"And if I don't?" Charles asked, towering over Pete and using the authoritative voice he normally saved for sex talk and getting the interest rate lowered on his credit cards. 

"I broke his rib, and I love him more than anything," Pete said simply. "Wot you think I'd be willin' to do to you?"

"If you touch him, I will rip your dick off," Henry said in an even tone. The sight of Charles standing over Pete was so terrifying, he felt numb. The idea of Pete being hurt on his behalf was unbearable.

Charles shook his head and laughed. 

"Good luck, Pete Sweet," Charles said with a smirk. "You'll need it. I'll see you next time you're bored, Henry."

Pete stood still and made Charles skirt around him to escape. As soon as Charles was gone, he ran to Henry and threw his arms around his neck.

"Some guy said you were getting hassled by a giant douchebag," Pete explained as he examined Henry for injuries. "Did he hurt you? I will chase him down if he did. You don't grow up in South London looking like this without learning how to fight dirty..."

The rest of Pete's words were muffled as Henry clutched him to his chest and squeezed.


	13. Chapter 13

Pete was giggling and eager, but Henry was nervous. He'd never been anyone's 'first,' and as Pete had so eloquently pointed out, bumming was serious. When it came to anal sex, it could be amazing and intense or just awkward and painful. 

"I really do like it 'both ways.' It might be easier if you topped me the first time," Henry suggested, even as he moved two well-lubricated fingers in and out of Pete's arse.

Pete thumped him over the head with a pillow. "Will you stop stalling and get to it? I already been waiting for ages for this."

Pete had asked what Charles had said in the men's room, but he'd accepted Henry's refusal to discuss it. He'd also refused to listen to Henry try and explain that he hadn't wanted to kiss Charles, dismissing his explanations as unnecessary. He fussed over Henry and told him he was beautiful and wonderful and that they needed to do something special to celebrate the first draft of his script, "since dancing turned out to be a rubbish idea."

Henry didn't think his first draft warranted penetrative sex, but Pete was insistent. He wanted to do something 'special.'

"I experimented," Pete explained as he wriggled impatiently. "I just ain't gone all the way."

"Did you experiment with Poppy?" Henry was still getting a handle on the nature of Pete's relationship with Poppy. 

Pete blushed. "Yeah, and a little with Daisy."

Henry laughed as Pete slapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. "Don't tell anyone I said that! It's not like it's a secret, it's just..."

"Private," Henry offered. "My lips are sealed."

Pete looked sad for a moment. "I have trouble thinking before I speak. Words just come out. Sorry."

Henry kissed him on his crooked nose. Pete was endlessly earnest and determined to be a good boyfriend. It was worth the risk of all of Shoreditch knowing Henry's sexual preferences to know that it was because Pete was happy and wanted to share, not because it was part of a power play. 

Henry wanted to know what Pete had tried with Daisy, and he REALLY wanted to know what he'd done with Poppy, but he was entirely too English to ask. Pete would likely tell him all the details at some point.

Once Pete seemed ready, Henry tucked pillows under his partner's hips and settled between his legs. Pete liked to kiss during everything: football matches, hand jobs, telly programs, dinner, while riding his scooter. Henry assumed he'd want to kiss while they took the next big step. 

Pete started laughing as Henry tried to get properly lined up.

"No laughing," Henry scolded. "Bummin' is serious, remember?"

Pete covered his mouth until he calmed down.

"This is well serious," Pete explained. "That's why I can't stop laughing."

"You don't have to be nervous," Henry assured him. "It's not that serious. It's just... another way to be intimate."

The irony did not escape Henry. Physical intimacy, he could handle. It was everything that came before and after sex that caused him trouble.

Pete ran his fingers through Henry's hair.

"I like your curls."

"I like you."

Pete buried his face in Henry's shoulder and hung on tight as Henry entered him. Henry had to laugh when he heard Pete whisper, "Genius."

It wasn't quite genius—Henry was hesitant and probably a bit too careful, in the face of Pete's enthusiasm—but it was good. Pete was quieter than usual, letting out little moans and gasps, but not offering any of his usual commentary or suggestions. Henry kept tweaking his movements until Pete returned to his usual, uninhibited self. Henry knew Pete was close when he yelled, "Christ, you could be in the Olympics."

After his orgasm, Pete's eyes were watery and his hands were shaking, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

Henry told Pete everything Charles had said. It all came out in a rush, and Henry had to keep his eyes closed to continue talking. He didn't edit the story to make himself sound better. Charles had flayed him and left him feeling exposed and a bit queasy.

"Charles is a dick," Pete observed.

"It's true, though," Henry argued. "I'm a miserable bastard, and I'm never satisfied or happy..."

Pete put a hand over Henry's mouth. 

"I believe you was bored with Charles, and I believe he tried really hard to keep you interested, 'cause you're a genius..."

"I'm not a genius," Henry argued through Pete's fingers. It was one thing to get false praise from a manipulator like Charles, but it was upsetting from someone who honestly believed Henry was anything but an idiot.

"Maybe not by your standards, but to people like me and Charles?" Pete's blue eyes were wide with sincerity. "You're like a wizard! I only ever have to tell you half a story, and then you just know the rest of what I'm gonna say. Charles knows he gets through life on charm, and he thinks having you gives him substance. You only think he's smart because he makes a lot of money. But he don't know anything, especially not about you," Pete said with something like authority in his voice. "You're ready to believe any horrible bullshit someone says about you, aren't you, Stitch?"

"It's not bullshit, Pete," Henry groaned after prying Pete's bony fingers from his face. "You have no idea what went on between me and Charles."

Pete bit his lip and looked nervous, and Henry belatedly realized Pete probably knew quite a bit about his escapades with Charles. 

"What did he tell you?"

"Don't be angry with me, Stitch."

"I'm not angry with you!" Henry all but yelled. "Sorry, Pete. Please. I have a right to know... what you know."

"Charles said you like to be hurt, and you get bored quick when people are nice to you," Pete explained. "He said you like your men big and butch and hard, and since I ain't the first two, I'd have to be extra rough, or..."

"Or what?"

"Or be really submissive and let you do whatever you liked," Pete continued, before covering his face with his hands, like a child playing peek-a-boo.

"Whatever I liked?" Henry asked. "What the hell did he say I like? He has no idea what I like!"

Pete looked worried, so Henry clamped down on his fear. He imagined it as a sheet that he simply needed to fold until it was small enough to be packed away forever. 

"I'm not saying that none of it's true..." Henry admitted, "but that's just a small part of what I like... They're like capers...."

"Capers the garnish, or capers of the Muppet variety?"

"The garnish. I love capers, but I don't want to eat a bowl of capers," Henry explained.

"That would be well disgusting!" Pete laughed.

"Well, yes, but that sounds a bit judgmental in the context of the metaphor."

Pete laughed some more.

"I don't mind a bit of kinkiness, Stitch. I'm up for almost anything, but not hurting you," Pete explained solemnly. "Least not for real. I'll spank you and call you a bad boy all night, but I ain't gonna leave bruises or say things that mess with your head. And I am not letting Charles bum me while you watch, cause he is a jerk!"

"That's what Charles wants, not me. If anything, I'd want..." Henry stopped himself before he said something ridiculous. 

"You want someone to watch us," Pete whispered. It was a statement, not a question.

"I don't know... I think about it, but I don't even know if I could, and it could turn out to be creepy or dangerous." Henry was far too neurotic to be properly kinky. He needed someone like Charles to take the lead. Even if Pete was right about Charles, the man knew how to act like he knew what he was doing.

"Poppy could watch," Pete cheerfully suggested.

"I don't know..." But Henry was already going there in his mind. Pete had a way of making Poppy seem so real.

"You didn't have any trouble giving Poppy a feel up on the couch at a party," Pete teased. "You can't be that shy."

Henry stared at Pete, a chill going up his spine.

"How do you know that?" he asked in shaky voice. Henry had never told anyone about his experiments with Poppy. Technically, he had talked about it, but had always pretended to be talking about a real girl.

"Poppy told me," Pete said with a knowing smile, before laughing. "You told me, you berk! Probably five times. You told me all about feeling up Poppy that night we did poppers. That's kind of why I wanted to meet her... It sounded like a good idea, you know? If it worked for you, and it made you feel a little more confident about who you were, I thought maybe she could help me, too."

"But I was on acid when I had my affair with Poppy."

Pete shrugged. "I reckon when you're on acid, you probably think more like I think all the time."


	14. Chapter 14

Gel loved the third draft of the script and was ready to shoot. He wanted Daisy, Pete, and Henry (and Poppy) to play themselves. Pete and Daisy were thrilled.

Pete frequently protested the literary license that Henry had taken with their lives.

"I didn't buy them elephant pants until you and I was together! You was the one that said my cock looked like an elephant trunk..." 

But overall, Pete liked having their romance chronicled in the form of a short film. He said it was like a scrapbook, "but not so boring."

Pete had no issue with having his quirks (and nearly naked body) put on display. His only unrelenting demand was that Jane not be mentioned. There was no way to have a character die in her teens and not come across as a maudlin, and Pete was insistent that Jane had been too fun and full of life to be reduced to a tragic figure. Henry and Pete agreed that Jane deserved her own film. Not even Henry was insecure enough to feel threatened by the memory of Jane. She had brought a shy young Pete out of his shell and made him into the kind of nutter who could fall in love with Henry. Henry owed her a lot.

Henry Dulcy was happy. He had a beautiful and charmingly insane boyfriend and two dogs, named "Captain" and "Beefheart". He'd given up his flat and moved in with Pete, and he did the cleaning while Pete did the cooking. They were living the dream. Well, maybe not the dream, but a dream.

Pete examined his naked body in the mirror.

"Is it too late to start working out?" Pete asked. "I might be a bit skinny..."

"We start filming tomorrow," Henry reminded him. "It might be a bit odd if your character goes from sexy, androgynous sprite to muscle-bound thug."

Pete flexed his muscles and giggled. "As long as you like my scrawny bod, I suppose it's fine."

"I love your scrawny bod."

Pete pinned Henry to the bed and snogged him with his usual enthusiasm. Sometimes Henry wondered what Pete saw in him that was so endlessly exciting, but he was trying not to think so much and just enjoy his good luck.

"Why are you always wearing so many clothes?" Pete complained as he tugged Henry's shirt over his head.

"I'm not a wanton exhibitionist," Henry replied.

"Oh really?" Pete asked with a knowing smile. Henry felt his face turning red, and he fought the urge to offer a defensive comment. After a few too many shots of whiskey, Henry had decided to let Pete "call" Poppy and invite her over. It had been inexplicably hot.

"No reason to be embarrassed, Stitch," Pete continued in a gentle voice as he pulled Henry's pants off and threw them over his shoulder. "It's fun to be a little kinky. I like when you tell me what you want."

Henry tried to shake off his lingering shame issues and focus on the fact that Pete Sweet was naked and in their shared bed. He was trying so hard not to overthink, he was taken by surprise when Pete ran a wet finger along the cleft of Henry's arse.

They'd discussed it, but Pete had seemed a bit nervous about topping Henry. He still suffered from the delusion that Henry was somehow sophisticated when it came to sex. After all, what was more sophisticated than getting blackout drunk and letting your cheating ex fuck you?

Pete was careful as he prepared Henry. It was endearing to watch Pete imitating Henry's routine. He hadn't realized Pete was paying such close attention.

"You got some long legs, Stitch," Pete giggled. "I don't know where to put them."  
Henry pulled Pete on top of him and wrapped his legs around Pete's slim waist. He probably could have wrapped his legs around Pete twice if he had a few more joints in his legs. He could tell by Pete's barely restrained grin that his partner was thinking something similar. 

Pete crossed his eyes when he managed to get the tip of his cock inside. 

"Bloody hell," he whispered as he inched his way in. Henry was tempted to speed things up, but he didn't want Pete to come too fast and feel embarrassed. 

Pete was right in thinking Charles had been a more skilled lover, but wrong to think Henry missed Charles' superior technique. Henry often saw Charles around town and they'd had a few friendly exchanges. Charles had somewhat apologized for the scene in the men's room, amongst other things, though they never discussed anything directly. They hedged and alluded like proper, middle-class, public school-reared Brits.

Pete was still ready to do battle for Henry's honor ("I'll get a ladder and kick his arse!"), but Henry felt like he'd finally gotten a bit of closure on his relationship with Charles. His former lover had lost a lot of his mystique when Henry had realized that Charles was just as insecure about himself and uncomfortable with his sexuality as Henry. He was no longer an idealized Adonis. He barely registered as a person. Charles, like Jack Daniels, was really just an instrument Henry had used in his self-destruction. 

"You're amazing, Pete," he half-whimpered as his partner carefully buried himself in Henry's body. "Just do whatever feels right."

There had been a time when Henry had honestly loved Charles, but Charles had confused his contentment for boredom. Henry was determined not to make the same mistakes with Pete. He would make all new mistakes with Pete.

Pete lowered his mouth to Henry's nipple. Henry let out a mortifyingly loud groan when Pete gave him a gentle bite.

Pete fucked him slowly and gently, while squeezing Henry's nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Is this good?" Pete asked, his eyes wide and guileless. 

"Harder."

"Genius."

Henry came quickly as Pete rode him hard and sank his teeth into Henry's shoulder. When Pete came, he brushed his sweaty fringe back from his forehead and grinned.

"All right?"

Henry laughed.

"All right, Pete."

xxx

Pete was wearing a crash helmet and little else. It was a tongue-in-cheek exaggeration of Henry's kinks - Pete in a crash helmet and Henry wearing nipple clamps and swilling straight whiskey - but, Pete was looking damn good. Henry had a feeling life was going to be imitating art that night.

"This is mental," Pete observed as he climbed into their bed. They were using their own apartment as the 'set' for 'Pete's apartment'. The line between reality and the short film ("Sweet") was getting thinner with every shot. Henry was grateful that Pete had saddled him with a nickname. He was the only person not using his real name in the film. Pete had had trouble shooting some of the scenes, particularly having to pretend to punch Henry, but it was a cathartic experience for both of them. They'd cleared the air on a lot of misunderstandings, and Henry had learned that he was a really talkative drunk. According to Pete, Henry had alternated between intense honesty and heterosexual posturing to the point that Pete had been thoroughly confused about the 'real' Henry. 

It was a surprise for Henry to realize how strongly he'd hung on to the defensive response of pretending to have experience with women. He'd thought he was past that hysterical response. Maybe he would always be a gangly and awkward kid trying to fit in with the real men.

They shot the scene, which consisted of Pete and Henry nodding at one another in bed, and then patiently waited for take two. Filmmaking was different from how Henry had pictured it. There was a lot more sitting around than he'd expected.

"It's funny when you think about it," Pete commented, as Gel conferred with his lighting tech/cousin.

Henry looked down at his nipple clamps. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"How you named your kiosk after me, before you even met me," Pete explained, resting his head on Henry's shoulder.

"I named it after me," Henry corrected his partner. "Dulcy derives from the word 'sweet,' and since my actual name literally sounds dull..."

"So," Pete interrupted him, "if I married you and changed my last name to yours, I would actually be legally named Pete Sweet?"

"No, you'd be named Pete Dulcy."

"I knew I wasn't lying when I said my name was Pete Sweet," Pete continued, undisturbed by reality (as usual). "I knew it was true when I said it. My name is Pete. Pete Sweet!"


End file.
